Lily in Red
by Mr. Skurleton
Summary: "You have a debt to pay Muiri." He stopped directly before her and leaned down until his hands grasped the table to which her back was pressed. The bottle she'd been holding fell from her shaking hands to spill along the stones beneath them, forgotten as swiftly as all her brave little words. "Did you think I would not return to collect what is owed?"


"Drowning your sorrows, I see."

If shadows could be taught to whisper, if they could be stirred with an wistful sigh, they might have sounded like those uttered words. But twas not the shadows that so softly shattered the solitude Muiri had been wallowing in within the confines of her stone room. Rather the words issued from lips pulled into a smirk, upon a face she could only half see, belonging to a shade she recognized.

On the far wall's stone bed he lounged in dauntless relaxation, his ever obscuring black hood inclined in her direction. Muiri tried to swallow her pulse as it crawled its way into her throat. She could do naught else but that, the seconds ticking by as her eyes remained painfully wide and fixated on this invited and yet unwanted guest. She could see only a sliver of his face as the rest lay shadowed by hood or hidden behind the curled grey hand his head rested on. Her gaze ran the length of his body, the details of his form equally obscured beneath thick, loose fabric that turned limbs and torso into little more than a suggestion of their actuality. His second arm was caught on the bend of his knee, the other hand hanging free and pointing with bent fingers to the line made by the rest of his body amid the furs.

"I must say I am pleasantly surprised. How prudent of you to rent a room for the occasion… especially one with such thick, sound deadening walls."

It was as if someone had snapped their fingers next to her ear. Muiri started, her back hitting the table behind her as emotions she couldn't think to name roiled within her gut.

She dropped her eyes to the grey stone floor, scrutinizing its weathered surface in an effort to keep them from lingering elsewhere. Her fingers convulsed around the bottle in her hand, perfuming the air with scents of honey fermented and something else earthy and bitter. Muiri knew a thing or two about the flavor of bitterness.

"What are you doing here?" She tried licking her dry lips but could manage no more than a strained whisper. Perhaps it was best though, for there are some things that should only be discussed in murmured words and downcast eyes. "Unless I wasn't clear last time we spoke?" If she could not stop her voice from wavering then she could at least speak in brave words.

"I could answer but I think it would perhaps be more entertaining for you to guess why I am here." The stranger sat up then, and although she could not see them, Muiri could feel his eyes trained on her. Every ounce of safety she had felt when she had thought herself alone was stripped away leaving nothing but a raw nakedness where it had once been.

She tugged at the ragged edges of her sleeves and hunched her shoulders in retort but said nothing.

"Or perhaps not, seeing as the answer is so very obvious." He stood in a single fluid motion and advanced on her with intent etched into every step. "You have a debt to pay Muiri, did you think I would not return to collect what is owed?" He stopped directly before her and leaned down until his hands grasped the table to which her back was pressed. The bottle she'd been holding fell from her shaking hands to spill along the stones beneath them, forgotten as swiftly as all her brave little words.

"It's only been four days… no horse is that fas.." His finger against her lips brought her speech to a dead stop.

"And yet the deed is done," he countered no louder than a heartbeat and close enough to touch. "Would you have preferred that I dawdle? Should I have given Alain and Nilsene one more day among the living before extinguishing their lives?"

Muiri made to shake her head but his finger had slid from her lips and now lay pointedly beneath her chin causing her to swallow any words she might have said. With his hand now firmly grasping her jaw Muiri was led to her feet. Only when it seemed her knees would not betray her did he relinquish the hold on her face and take up one on her wrist instead. Primal instincts kept her from jerking her hand back, that and the cold realization that she couldn't have freed herself regardless of how hard she pulled. Iron in cloth, a shackle beneath an innocuous facade… Muiri almost would have preferred them, at least then there would have been a lock to pick where as his deceptively slender hand gave her no such option.

"Your coin is on the table…" Perhaps she was a fool for thinking she could distract him with gold, perhaps she was a fool for letting herself be surprised with no means of defense, but perhaps playing the fool would mean making it out of this room alive.

"I know, but that is not important at the moment. You see I went through an awful lot of trouble to ensure a memorable evening for us both tonight." He spoke oddly, to her ears it was an accent wholly unlike the other Dunmer she'd met. His closeness gave her a better view of what had only been glimpsed when he was across the room, the black scrawl of a tattoo across his cheek, the scent of nightshade trapped in the fabric of his robes, the hilt of a blade peeking from between folds of cloth. "So as you might imagine, it would be something of an insult if you do not at least allow me to show you tonight's entertainment."

The way he bit into the word 'insult' made Muiri shudder and her eyes linger for a moment more on the blade she could see.

"Good, I am glad we understand each other. Shall we proceed then?" When it was clear that she wasn't going to object… or scream for that matter, he let her go.

Shuffling feet brought her no relief as she recoiled into something hard, cold and clothed. She spun, jerked back and tried to shriek. Her gut wrenched, strained eyes ready to pop; yet she couldn't blink. She was choking on crimson cloth, the assassin's hands over her mouth making her swallow those readied cries. Her clawing hands found no purchase, her struggling useless. Muiri couldn't see the blade likely arcing towards her throat, couldn't hear the crackling spell surely racing from his fingertips.

"Now, now, calm yourself. Unless you would like to inform the guard of our dealings? How well do you think the good people of Markarth would take that knowledge? Do you think they would give you a trial before you were jailed or skip right to the noose?" A calm silken thread breathed along the hairs of her neck, patient if not kind. Muiri's face drained of color, her breath coming in loud short bursts. So her death was not at the forefront of his mind, the young alchemist wasn't reassured.

"Much better, though really I had hoped you would enjoy this a bit more or at least be somewhat appreciative." She felt rather than heard his sighed annoyance. "Now, if you are quite through with your frightened little rabbit act I would like to proceed. The night only lasts so long." Muiri didn't have to be told twice, nor was his caution warranted when he removed his hand from her mouth. She knew the difference between a promise and an idle threat.

"You said he was dead," She hissed through clenched teeth her eyes trained on Alain's pale and motionless face. "If this is some twisted joke the two of you…"

The assassin's laugh was immediate and cold. Muiri shivered with her every nerve, a move that caused his too close lips to brush against her skin. It was a jolt in the dark, an extra kick of adrenaline when she was already drowning in it.

"Oh, my dear frozen lily," he spoke that which cut deepest and nailed her down more than his grip ever could. "Perhaps you need a closer look at your once beloved." She didn't have time to protest as his arm dragged her closer to the despised form of Alain. Now that she wasn't panicking her mind processed his appearance more completely, the dried blood along the collar of his clothing, the dead stare in his lifeless eyes. It was then that it clicked. Dufont was as dead as she had wished; merely a lifeless thrall bound to the mer behind her. "Now you see it, and that is only the half of it." His smirk was audible, crawling into her ear and settling like a spider within its web.

"Nilsine…." She gasped quietly, recognizing the now deceased woman that faded into view as her former friend. "Is she…?"

"But of course. That is what you asked for, was it not?"

"Yes…. But why did you raise their corpses?" Never mind his trick of her mind, convincing her she'd been alone earlier, in her mind the burn of fear had been doused, replaced by a warmth that was pleasant yet cruel. Here they were, her tormentors as dead as any feelings she might once have felt for them.

"Does it matter? I do not recall you voicing any concern about what would happen after your idea of justice was meted out." His grip on her loosened as he walked over to grasp Nilsine's cold jaw, pulling it to the side as if to show Muiri the ragged gash that marred the flesh at her throat. "Unless you suddenly feel some flutter of guilt?"

Muiri cast her gaze quickly to the side, her arm coming up to rub nervously at the other.

"No, it doesn't matter. You've earned your payment. And this is the bonus for killing Nilsine." She explained coldly, oddly less at ease now that he had let go of her. She tugged at the tarnished silver ring that adorned her right hand, the plain band too accustomed to her flesh to let go willingly.

"I merely tease my dear Muiri," he turned the sound of her name into something carnal and the way he uttered the word 'tease' made a different kind of feeling twist inside her stomach. "I am not one to do something without intent. Raising these two was but the start."

He held out his hand to her, black hood hiding his eyes and his so called 'intent' from hers. Reluctance sang through her muscles, not sure which she wanted less to do with, the assassin she'd contracted with or the corpse he stood next to. But what would her refusal cost her? Her trembling fingers reached forward.

"Can you imagine how disappointing it was to see a woman so in need of revenge yet unable to see it through? Poison brewed, violence breathing from tight lungs, you were ready and yet..." He drew her closer to the corpse. "Your target continued to draw breath. So you did the next best thing I suppose. But to lose your nerve at that pinnacle moment, to allow someone else to claim what is yours? I thought to myself perhaps it is not a lacking of nerve but rather of direction, of instruction." From inside his robes he produced the dagger, its edge wicked and glowing faintly red in the dim room. To her he offered the hilt, waiting casually for her as if he was merely handing her a butter knife for her bread. "So here is your chance Muiri, it is time to taste what you have been longing for."

"You want me to what? But… they're already dead! What point would it serve now?" She was astounded, her mind reeling with the oddness of the situation. Wistfully she even regretted contacting the Dark Brotherhood in the first place, seeing as it was turning into a far more dangerous endeavor than she'd ever dreamt it would.

"True they are dead, and it will not be quite as satisfying as it would have been if you had simply killed them yourself. However… are you honestly going to tell me there is no part of you that still wishes to plunge a dagger into Alain's heart? Or to stab the woman who betrayed you in the back?" he asked her, dagger hilt still offered. "You should have heard them both… the things they uttered about you before they died…"

Her thoughts were a swarm. ' _What would it matter if I stabbed them now? They're just corpses… there's nothing wrong or illegal about stabbing corpses…'_ it whispered silently to her and another cold shiver slipped down her spine. It was true, even if the guards where to bust in now they could both deny knowing where the zombies had come from. She could even claim she was defending herself from them, after all there was no way to tell who had raised them from the grave.

It was as if time had slowed for the budding alchemist… the warm metal of the dagger's hilt felt calming against her palm even if she didn't know how it had come to be in her hand and not his. she pivoted on unsteady feet, swaying in place until the face of Alain once more filled her vision. Anger roiled from the depths of her being like a rising tide that tinted the world a dull red. It boiled and seethed from somewhere deep in her chest, fed by the countless nights she had spent in this very tavern pitying herself, by each bitter word the shatter-shield's had spit in her direction.

Her arm came up, swinging blindly as she tried to drive the dagger's tip home. But as the assassin had pointed out, she lacked the skill needed to wield a blade, and no amount of hatred would give her that. The blade clattered noisily to the stone floor, having veered off course as it collided with Alain's shoulder at an off angle. She cursed, her eyes bleary with searing tears as she disregarded the fallen weapon and instead pounded at Alain's cold chest with her bare hands.

The assassin watched in silence, it wasn't till she had released her anger fully and was merely sobbing that he moved to retrieve his discarded blade. But rather than sheath it he held it out to her once more without a word. Muiri mirrored his silence as she fought to quiet her weeping, letting the eerie calm settle in the void her anger had left behind.

Again she approached the body of her ex-lover, this time with cold calculation only edged with her hatred. Without a sound she plunged it into Alain's yielding flesh, and when it would sink no longer she pulled it back out and struck again, and again. Till the chest that she had once caressed was unrecognizable from being butchered so. There was little of his blood left to spill, but her sleeves were covered in a spattering of drops nonetheless; her hands were coated in the sticky black ooze that dribbled from the wounds she'd inflicted.

"See? Is that not better? More satisfying to appease your desire with your own hands?" That soft voice once more questioned her, but her mind had begun to numb in the wake of her anger and she had no words with which to answer him; merely staring blankly at his partially concealed face. "So, tell me, my frozen lily, are you satisfied? Or does that passion for revenge still burn hm? After all, you still have one more guest." He reminded her, gesturing to Nilsine in the corner.

Muiri's arms felt heavy, her body drained, but the more she looked at Nilsine's face the more the memories started to pour into her head.

 _"Traitor!"_

 _" Thief!"_

How they had cursed at her, her pleas and explanations falling on deaf ears. How she despised their cruelness, could they not for a moment consider that she might be innocent? No, they had thought themselves above her. They had cast her out without a single thought, like one would trash onto the street.

Once more she swung the blade, striking across the unmarked skin of her victim's face, gouging an ugly furrow from eye to jaw line. It wouldn't have been enough to kill Nilsine had she still been alive, but it ruined her once pleasing face. Muiri moved almost mechanically, forcing the zombie down onto its knees with the heel of her foot against its now exposed back. Down along Nilsine's spine went the blade, slicing through bones as if they were nothing. And she continued hacking away with renewed fury till the back of her victim was a mess of black ooze and white bone peeking through the torn flesh and rent cloth. Muiri relished the chance, cutting each of her own frustrations out on the unmoving form beneath her.

When she had finished and her mind was once more catching up with the reality around her she let the blade fall from her tired fingertips, her eyes staring at her own gore splattered hands.

"And then the maid, hunger sated and drained from her own wishes, looked down upon the garden of her actions. To see the fruits of her labor laid bare before her, the fallen and damned but blooms at her feet," the shrouded mer said softly, stepping over the remains of his deceased thralls with ease despite the considerable mess they were now in. He handed her a cloth for her hands before heading over to the table to retrieve his payment. Muiri cleaned her hands off without thinking, her clothing ruined and her strength sapped out of her by her relinquished anger. She watched as he moved, wondering if he planned to leave her then with two butchered corpses and with what purpose he had done this for her.

"So what happens now? Do we both just pretend we never met and part ways?" She wasn't sure why she asked but she couldn't hold the words back as her nerves; raw from the entire ordeal, once more became on edge. He seemed unaffected by her question, as if the answer went without saying as he picked his weapon up from where she'd dropped it moments before. "Well, at least tell me your name then," she pleaded hurriedly as he headed for the door.

At those words he paused, his hand on the handle as if caught for a moment in contemplation. The silence stretched out between them, flowing around Muiri and threatening to swallow her whole. After what seemed like ages and to her surprise he turned around, reclining back against the door as his arms came to rest folded over his chest.

"And why is it you wish to know? What do you hope to gain should you have that information?" He asked blankly; she had expected suspicion, but found none in his tone.

"I… uh... I wish to know because…" She was stuttering, not even sure herself why she wanted to know. After all it wasn't like she'd be able to tell anyone it; surely if she did she'd find herself in worse shape than the bodies at her feet. Yet for some reason she couldn't just let him leave without knowing at least something about him. "I want to know because… because you've done more for me than anyone else," she paused, trying to conjure up the nerve to say what was running through her mind. "You're my champion… I want, no, need to know your name and what you look like. I won't tell a soul but I have to know."

"Champion… how very quaint." His lips pulled into a malicious grin and Muiri felt her chest tighten. She feared she'd pushed him too far, unwittingly angering him with her demands. Each footstep he took closer to her made her tremble, scarcely able to breathe at all as he closed the distance between them.

"Are you in the habit of interrogating murderers?" His tone held more than just a threat to it, the way he accentuated the words bordered on the obscene and gave Muiri's pulse an entirely different reason to pound.

Once more he reached for her; locking her in an embrace like a lover would. But where one would expect warmth and tenderness to be... there was none; his body now cold, his touch like death itself along her jaw as he forced her head slowly up to look at him. She offered no resistance and no struggle, she didn't dare. The hand on her jaw caressed up her cheek and further until his fingertips were brushing the hair out of her eyes. She stiffened in his embrace unsure when the soft touch would turn violent but convinced it would.

The hood fell back along his shoulders and Muiri saw the last thing Nilsine and Alain had before they died. Features sharp enough to cut one's hand on gave way to green eyes that held a look completely alien to her. His skin was smooth, marred only by a tattoo sprawling along one of his cheeks which stood out against the grey of his skin and the red of his hair.

"Well? Does my appearance match what you expected?" he asked, towering over her. She shook her head, had she not been terrified she would have thought him handsome, the kind of mer she might have flirted with in the tavern, even with the blood red color of his hair and the exotic look of his face. But mere inches from her with those unrelenting eyes peering down, she knew the face of death when she saw it.

"Ah I see, well perhaps that is for the better; my work would be rather difficult were everyone to think me an assassin from sheer looks alone. Now, as for your original request…" he continued, doing something that was so beyond what she'd expected that it obliterated every thought in her mind at that moment. It took her moments after the fact to realise he'd leaned forward and firmly pressed his cold lips against hers, a kiss that ended with her bottom lip bloodied. He'd whispered his name afterwards, and released her from his monstrous hold, slipping out of the door without a sound.

"Thank you Malatu…" she murmured numbly as the name registered in her mind long after he'd already left.

It was some time later; when she'd fully come to terms with what seemed like the most nightmarish dream, that it occurred to her that she was still in an inn room with two corpses. Both of which were connected to her. But even as she looked over their hacked at forms they began to disintegrate into ashes, leaving nothing to mark the event beyond her now throbbing bottom lip and her own blood stained clothes.


End file.
